The Canada Fanfic That Will Be Frowned Upon By Society
by SydSydRox
Summary: Canada has a chance to be the hero. Only a tiny bit of the whole story. I might do a flashback scene to the very beginning as well.


The clock next to Canada's bed ticked softly. Although the clock was set to go off during the wee hours of the morning, Canada was about ready to spring out of his bed. His leg muscles flexed every time he heard the clock tick. He didn't even bother. Turning off the alarm, Canada slid out of the covers to slip on his glasses and smooth his hair out of his tired eyes. It was go time.

He hit the shower, but used no soap; harboring any scent at all might ruin the entire mission. He rubbed the scentless lotion on his smooth chest. He threw on a tank top and a pair of boxers. He then tucked the tank into his underwear. Another tank top. Then another. Then he strapped on the bullet vest. He was wearing it as tight as he could, nearly constricting all of the breath out of his lungs. Only when he looked in his floor-length mirror did he feel the magnitude of his bravery hit him like a sock full of butter straight to the nuts. Examining himself, he could feel his heart forcing itself against his chest and the vest with every pulse.

"Come on now, stop that..."

He placed a hand across his chest and took several deep breaths in an attempt to get the pounding to stop. It didn't. Forgetting about it quickly, he put on the rest of his clothes, except for his winter boots. Not yet; the loud clomping of his boots could wake up people across the world. Literally. France is still sleeping and Canada knew what would happen if France went alone. He shook off the creeping emotions like snow. Main point: he HAD to be sneaky. He put the boots in the duffel bag he had packed yesterday while France was at the grocery store. He took another deep breath. Looking at the clock, he kept the numbers '222' in the back of his head. 2:22 was the time at the moment, and 222 was the address Russia left for France. 222. That was it. Not a street name or anything. Also, 12:22 was the time at which the transaction would take place. Unzipping the duffel bag and opening a CapriSun, Canada anxiously quenched his dry throat while the entire episode played in his head.

10:25 AM, Saturday morning. Canada had been invited over to France's house for some breakfast. It was delicious. A crepe on the left, sliced bread with cheese cubes on the right, and a heaping pile of pancakes stacked about six inches from the plate.

Canada opened his eyes. 2:30. He sadly sucked the remaining juice from the package, wishing he had some pancakes right now. The rummaged through the bag. Nothing but non-perishables. 'Pancakes are non-perishable, right?' He thought to himself. He contemplated opening a bag of chips as his empty stomach pleaded, but the crinkling of the bag might wake France up. Definite no-no. He gently put it back. Closing his heavy eyes again, the memory played like a movie.

Wiping his mouth with a linen napkin, Canada was contently full, and wanted nothing more to do with food. France patted his head.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, non?"

Canada rubbed his slightly bloated stomach.

"I'm going in my room to lie down..."

Canada got up from the table and took care of his completely crumb-less dishes. Pushing in the chair, he made his way up the stairs. He could hear France's footsteps close behind.

"Don't lie down for too long! You don't want to put on any weight..."

Canada quickly reassured him in a loving, yet tired, tone of voice.

"I'm not, I'm not. Wake me up in about an hour, please!"

And Canada's bedroom door shut.

3:46. He was dozing off again. Canada gently hit himself in the head while whispering "Idiot..!". Looking and listening around, nothing had changed. No one stirred. All was silent, serene, peaceful, and perfect for a little bit more shut-eye. Canada became furious with himself. Here he is, trying to protect his father, but falling asleep in the process. 'What kind of a person am i?' His mind shouted. He needed something, anything, to keep himself awake. A Rubik's Cube, some music, playing with a doll, ANYTHING. And then he saw the bed. Canada blinked once, and was out like a light.

10:57 AM. Canada was deep into his nap when the phone next to his bed noisily rang. He picked it up, not knowing that France had already done so. Canada, dazed from napping, did not hang up the phone. Instead he listened.

"Bonjour!"

France began to speak, but was quickly hushed by the third person on the phone.

"Drop act, Bonnefoy. This is strictly business."

"Oh... It's you..."

France lowered his voice to accommodate the tone. Canada gulped silently.

"Now. You remember our little deal?"

"Hmm...oui. Is there a problem?"

"Da. Your friend is giving me headache, so I return him early."

Canada could hear France's sigh of relief from upstairs and on the phone. He remained dead silent. The third voice was menacing, yet almost pleasant to listen to. The thick Russian accent made it all the more harder for Canada to understand the situation. He continued anyway.

"But that mean you give me early ransom."

France twirled a curly blonde loch in his finger.

"How...how much are we talking? The original ransom was already at 250. How much more do you want?!"

He was basically shouting. The Russian voice stayed calm, however.

"If you were to put price on beloved human life, how much would you give?"

"A lot. No monetary value could be placed on how much I love him..."

"Give me price."

France became wishy-washy.

"Erm...uhm...500? 750? You are breaking me, here!"

There was silence.

"Million."

"A million dollars, are you mad?!"

"One million. Or little Iggy goes 'do svidaniya'. Understand?"

France deflated into his couch. His face had gone pale and he seemed to be completely unable to stand.

"One million... Got it. Okay. Fine."

Canada moved the phone away from his ear to take a breath; he hadn't realized he was holding it for so long. He was so ready to hang up, yet something in him told him to continue listening. The phone was back against his ear.

"We exchange tomorrow. 12:22 PM. My place. Meet me at the sign that says 222. I give you directions later. Bring money, of course. I bring England in brown garbage bag. Come alone. I come alone as well. We trade. All is well. Understood?"

His sentences were so simple and straight to the point, there would have to be something wrong with you is you couldn't understand. France nodded to every word as the color returned to his cheeks. Canada, on the other hand, was almost drained of all energy. 'Come alone'. Canada knew France. He would fall for every word and end up going alone. But Canada had seen movies where people would go alone to places mysterious voices told them to go. Never. He would have to follow France. There was no way.

"Alright. I guess I'll see you then..."

And then the phone clicked. Both parties hung up. Canada stared into space, horrified by what's been happening while he wasn't paying attention. There was a thumping that broke the silence in the air. Canada hung up the phone and placed a hand over his chest. That's when France knocked at the door. Canada quickly shifted to look like he was asleep, when really, he was in shock. The door opened.

"Matthew, sweetie. There are a couple of things I need to take care of. I'm going to the bank, and then the grocery store. Is there anything you want?"

Canada could hear the horror in his voice, but didn't bother playing dumb. He knew what he had to do.

"Maybe some juice boxes and some chips?"

"Will do."

France walked over and hugged Canada tightly. He wrapped his arms around Canada's head and squeezed him to his chest. Canada could feel his ragged breathing and rapid heart. The embrace lasted forever, warm and snug. France snuggled his face into Canada's hair and kissed his scalp repeatedly. Even France's hugs and kisses were sad and terrified. France kissed Canada once more on the cheek and left. He could hear the car pulling out of the driveway and felt the weight of the world pressing down on his chest. And the warmth of the gentle sun on his face and hands.

'Wake up, stupid.'

10:15 AM. Canada slept for an extra seven hours straight. He cursed loudly, but silenced himself before he felt that he was too loud. He heard bare footsteps. Then running water. France was awake. He missed his chance to sneak out. But he wasn't just going to sit here and let opportunity knock ceaselessly. Being carefully quiet, Canada opened his huge coat, his jacket, and his first and second button-up shirt to reveal the bullet vest. Out of the duffel bag, he carefully unrolled a 5 by 7, rectangular, interconnected web of freshly manufactured squibs. He waited until now to put it on because he didn't want them to burst open. He cautiously slid the web into his clothing. In this way, if he were to get shot at, it would look like he were bleeding. Not only this, but someone could shoot him practically anywhere in the chest or stomach and pull it off flawlessly. The plan was so ingenious, he couldn't resist smiling. He put his clothes back on. The water stopped. More footsteps. Canada moved fast. Quickly, he tiptoed down the hallway, down the stairs, and to the front door. There, he'd strap on his boots and gloves and goggles and would be on his way. Everything was ready. He went to the garage and opened the front door to France's SUV. He never kept it locked and always complained about how unreliable it was. It's a nice SUV; seven seats, roomy, huge trunk – thank goodness – and cushioned seats. There were more features to his dream machine, but Canada had to focus on more important things. He threw the duffel bag in the trunk and Canada jumped in next to it. He closed the trunk from the inside. He was on his back, facing the roof of the car. There was deafening silence. Since France wouldn't be in the car for another maybe 30 or so minutes – it takes a good while for him to beautify himself – Canada felt it was safe to eat a bag of chips. He hurriedly opened the bag to explode his options. Doritos? Too messy. Funyuns? Nah. Onion breath is a no-no. He only had Fritos left. He ate the entire bag in about three or four handfuls. This was breakfast. He opened another CapriSun to wash it down. More silence. Then the garage opened, which made Canada jump out of his skin. He quickly put the trash in the duffel bag and remained still and silent, not even breathing. The front door the the car opened and he saw France get in. His back was turned to Canada, and so he could not tell if he were starting the car or not. He heard the keys jingling. Then the phone ringing. France had put the phone on speaker. Then the car started. While the engine was noisy, Canada took a deep, crisp breath. He closed his eyes and remained as invisible as he could.

"Are you ready?"

The phone spoke.

"Oui. I am on my way. I'll make my way to your place, and I need instructions to your '222' location."

"Call me when you get to my place. Then we talk."

The phone hung up. France cursed aloud. The car pulled out of the driveway. They were both in for the ride of their lives.


End file.
